( panic from a thief — in any room beyond this one, it's an unforgivable crime. makes him sloppy, makes his tells too loud, makes the greed a fucking neon sign lit up in his eyes. ani smooths back the wild strand of hair haloing his temple, smooth southern charm sandpapered to rough grit. his usual calm glide through life's storms, untouchable — all man-made turbulence against her, now. she's not the place a man sticks an easy landing; she's the up-draft. lifts a man up, tears him down, on a whim of nature. the only one that can ever have him like this — golden, godly icarus singed by a girl who burns brighter and bolder, nosediving down into the dirt. made real, made raw. made hers, like nothing else has ever been hers.
she knows that look of desperation. knows she's wearing it now, pupils blown wide, swallowing the warm whiskey‑brown. knows she's worn it, with deja-vu clarity — reflected back to her in the glittering face of diamonds, blue glow of an atm screen, eyes that looked at her without seeing. people who were never hers, lives that she'd never get to have. the times she's drawn up short: that's not for you, ani. never for you. and the one time she'd thought, maybe, maybe that unbelievable daydream was finally hers —
jake kisses her with the same split-open longing, like she's always wanted to be kissed: not just worth wanting, keeping, but vital. precious, priceless. she whines, loud, into his mouth, wrecked by the intensity of him; drags her tongue, wet and messy, to catch the salt-sweet taste of her sugared to his teeth. spit threads between them, sticky gum still tucked behind her molars; it gets lost and caught up between their tongues, slick and saliva and spearmint, a sting of nicotine. so dizzyingly nostalgic she can only gasp, )
Jake.
( call and response. here, it says. i'm right here. you're home. look at me, look at me. a hand cups his jawline to hold it steady, licking clean the evidence of her orgasm on his skin. snags her nails in his shirt with scrambling impatience, an annoyed, pissed-off breath at finding any barrier still exists to separate them. flexes her thighs tight around his hips, taking out the frustration on his denim, the obscene drip of her darkening the fabric, a monet watercolor that's all ani's frantic, hip-arching brushstrokes. and when the blunt head of his cock catches on her clit, slips down to nudge her open perfectly —
she clenches down so violently she can only curl forward, sink her teeth into his lip to hide the high, broken sound it breaks loose in her. ragged and reedy against his mouth, like he isn't already jet fuel burning up, another match to light him up: )
You feel that? That's what missin' you did to me. ( she's never known how to beg out loud. learned real fast that it never changed a damn thing for her. still, it sounds like a plea, the please locked in her throat, when she grips at his fucking stupid, perfect hair: ) This pussy's been waiting for you, baby. You gonna stay where you belong this time?
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she knows that look of desperation. knows she's wearing it now, pupils blown wide, swallowing the warm whiskey‑brown. knows she's worn it, with deja-vu clarity — reflected back to her in the glittering face of diamonds, blue glow of an atm screen, eyes that looked at her without seeing. people who were never hers, lives that she'd never get to have. the times she's drawn up short: that's not for you, ani. never for you. and the one time she'd thought, maybe, maybe that unbelievable daydream was finally hers —
jake kisses her with the same split-open longing, like she's always wanted to be kissed: not just worth wanting, keeping, but vital. precious, priceless. she whines, loud, into his mouth, wrecked by the intensity of him; drags her tongue, wet and messy, to catch the salt-sweet taste of her sugared to his teeth. spit threads between them, sticky gum still tucked behind her molars; it gets lost and caught up between their tongues, slick and saliva and spearmint, a sting of nicotine. so dizzyingly nostalgic she can only gasp, )
Jake.
( call and response. here, it says. i'm right here. you're home. look at me, look at me. a hand cups his jawline to hold it steady, licking clean the evidence of her orgasm on his skin. snags her nails in his shirt with scrambling impatience, an annoyed, pissed-off breath at finding any barrier still exists to separate them. flexes her thighs tight around his hips, taking out the frustration on his denim, the obscene drip of her darkening the fabric, a monet watercolor that's all ani's frantic, hip-arching brushstrokes. and when the blunt head of his cock catches on her clit, slips down to nudge her open perfectly —
she clenches down so violently she can only curl forward, sink her teeth into his lip to hide the high, broken sound it breaks loose in her. ragged and reedy against his mouth, like he isn't already jet fuel burning up, another match to light him up: )
You feel that? That's what missin' you did to me. ( she's never known how to beg out loud. learned real fast that it never changed a damn thing for her. still, it sounds like a plea, the please locked in her throat, when she grips at his fucking stupid, perfect hair: ) This pussy's been waiting for you, baby. You gonna stay where you belong this time?